Before working as a seasonal worker at the campsite, I was, unsurprisingly, registered with what used to be called Pôle Emploi. During dinner with a friend, he asked me if I had seen the agency's new advisor: "He's a good-looking guy. I wonder if he's gay." It's a thought that hadn't crossed my mind, for the simple reason that I have a female advisor. Pôle Emploi helps me in my job search more than in my search for dates. Even if, in my case, the latter are easier to find. During an appointment at the agency, I took a seat in the waiting room. Noisy! People now have this habit of using speakerphone in public. As if it were useful at that given moment to know if the Petits Coraya at lunchtime came from Leclerc and not Carrefour! Suddenly, silence fell as a man entered the room. My gaze fell on him. Oh yes! Fifty-something, shaved head, graying beard. He wore a dark blue shirt with white floral patterns, jeans that were dangerously tight for his privacy, and polished brown dress shoes. The sight was appealing, although I wasn't a fan of those kinds of shoes; my heart was definitely on sneakers, the sporty look, not office stuff. He called my name. With a wave of my hand, I smiled at him as I stood up. He walked confidently toward me, his arm outstretched, with a smile that was meant to be professional, but incredibly sexy, in a firm handshake, compared to the limpness of my arm, which gave me a glimpse of his bracelet, on which was engraved "Christian." He gestured for me to follow him. My gaze was immediately drawn to his buttocks, as tightly pressed together as his crotch had been a few minutes earlier. Obviously, I wasn't the only one in this situation, given the number of faces turned toward him. Once settled in his office, he introduced himself as my new advisor, before the usual pleasantries that I listened to with varying degrees of attention; this one was more about the first button undone on his shirt. The shirt I imagined him without. Quite athletic, probably with muscular pecs. An indescribable atmosphere hung in the air that made the interview special, though I couldn't quite figure out why. A few days later, after finishing everything I needed to do at home, I wandered around the naturist website, which I knew too well to have been registered for years without meeting as many people as I would have liked. Among the new members in Nîmes, I thought I recognized him, in a small photo, lost among the others on my computer screen. The username is a play on words with the first name Christian. To lift the veil, I clicked on it. It was him! The Pôle Emploi advisor, naked, lying on a bed, one leg bent that he held in one hand. I then understood why his jeans were generously provided. Not by his penis, as small as mine, but by his pair of balls! Round, pink, smooth... They wouldn't even fit in the palm of my hand. He has a closed gaze, no smile, in a pout that he wants to be sexy. As for me, he doesn't need to do that much for me to find him sexy. He's well-built, as his outfit at the agency suggested. From the back, his buttocks, however, show the passage of time. I rush to send him a message. A message he won't reply to, even a few days later. To avoid cluttering my inbox, I delete it. In the end, what did I expect? I hadn't counted on an app. That same evening, I launched it. Grindr... The fruit and vegetable section, where the freshest ones are the most popular. As far as I'm concerned, I prefer them ripe. So much so that sometimes they fall from the tree, even if it means making compote. But nothing new under the glow of my desk lamp. Always the same faces, if they even deign to show it, of these guys who don't receive because they're discreet, but also don't move because 100m is too far for them. I don't think the construction of an airport is planned, which would break their laziness to get off their asses to empty their balls. When I'm about to close everything, and pressed by the need to pee, I hear this particular sound of bells. The one that announces the arrival of a message that I know in advance is terribly banal, the eternal "Hi." What people expect to receive another "hi" before being asked "How are you?" to reassure them that indeed, "I'm fine." To address what interests them, or not, namely, "Are you looking for?" Why not go straight to the point? I click on the profile of this unimaginative sender. It appears 20m away. A photo of a shoulder and a text that claims to like uro, feet and ballbusting. But on closer inspection, I recognize this shoulder. This is the cropped end of the photo of the Pôle Emploi advisor on the naturist website. I send him: "Good evening."Isn't the day at the agency too hard?" A few seconds later, he replies: "Routine. But the day is over. I don't want to talk about work." That's understandable. I continue: "Are you meeting people here?" "I'm new to Nîmes. I don't know anyone, and your face looked familiar... Nice ass, by the way!" "Thanks. I keep it in shape with the gym. Yours isn't bad either." "What do you mean? I didn't show you my ass." "I saw it on the naturist website." "Shit. I have to be careful. Nîmes is a small town... I'm at a terrace on the square. I'm having a coffee. I could finish it at your place. I'm so thirsty." Understanding this sexual metaphor, I offer him a drink. A few seconds later, he's in my kitchen. I'm naked and invite him to do the same. I admire this moment when he take ...

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